


rinne

by whiteautumn



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Black Romance, Black and White death gods are gonna be a thing now okay, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Melancholy, Romance, a lot of theatrics i have no idea why, birthday fic for kaneki and kishou, elements of noir fiction, fits my current winter mood, i see a new spiral for kaneki, more like, on Kaneki's part maybe, possibly kismesis-like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteautumn/pseuds/whiteautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Happy birthday, Ken.”</p><p>A carving of the higanbana, etched in black and white. </p><p>“Back at you, Arima Kishou.” He whispered into empty space, the cold edges of the flower cutting into his fingers.</p><p>A beginning, after the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rinne

**Author's Note:**

> **Note:** It's still the 19th here but whatever I have itchy fingers and I want to post it up like, right now (besides, it is the 20th in Tokyo right now so that's all that counts, right? :P ). 
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEATH GODS (hearts) 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don't own Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re nor Tokyo Ghoul √A. They belong to Ishida-sensei. This is a non-profit document.

The winter in Tokyo was uncharacteristically cold this year, he mused, fingertips brushing across the cold glass windowpane, feeling the sharp coldness zigzagging upwards and spreading throughout his palm like lightning.

He wondered if it’d snow.

It was an idle thought, a spontaneous one. He paused in the midst of setting down his cup – white fumes rising and disappearing just as quickly, fleetingly – before resuming the action with a wry smile on his face.

This wasn’t like him at all, to occupy himself with such trivial thoughts. As far as he remembered – and he remembered a lot, the pain, the suffering and the desperation – he was always trying to accomplish something.

For his mother, Hide, the manager – himself.

Perhaps, ultimately, it had all been for him – selfish, what Eto, no, Takatsuki Sen’s, words had implied – he’d done it all for himself.

To please his mother, to keep Hide, to not feel powerless and at the mercy of this cruel word, to get the pain to stop.

Everything had been for himself.

Suddenly, the cold of the weather felt that much more pronounced. He held onto his black mug a little tighter and continued to stare out into the grey skies.

The blackness of his hair stood out vividly in the reflection. It felt foreign and familiar.

He wondered how everyone else thought about this sudden shift. 

The doorbell rang.

Pausing in his reverie, he raised an eyebrow towards the door. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially considering he just moved into this new apartment – now that the Quinx were no longer his responsibility, Shirazu’s death had left a bad taste in his mouth and Urie’s subsequent confrontation hadn’t made it any better.

The other reminded him way too much of how he had been back then.

Frowning when the doorbell rang again – he considered not opening the door, but it seems the other is persistent – he left the mug sitting on the white marbled surface and got ready to open his door to see –

Oh, oh. He should’ve expected this – he should’ve checked through the peephole because this was the last person he wanted to see right now.

Red flooded his vision – although the other was in as much monochrome as he was – and his hands tightened on the doorknob just by a little.

“Hello, Haise. May I come in?”

There he was, in all his glory (inundated by death, he feels), Arima Kishou.

* * *

 

The past week has been one filled with charades and theatrical plays. Every single one of their meetings after that incident had been a perfectly choreographed dance routine. He thought, nodding mutely and moving away as a silent invitation for the white-haired male clad in a form-fitting black suit.

Ui Koori might not have known, Special Class Washuu might not know – he was pretty sure even Akira didn’t know – but he _knew_ that Arima Kishou knew.

The Shinigami had taken one look at him in the aftermath of the battle with the One-Eyed Owl, and there had been a spark of recognition in his eyes that had set his nerves on edge.

Unexpectedly, he did nothing. Arima Kishou continued to act as if he was plain – simpleton, naïve – Sasaki Haise who had accomplished yet another amazing feat in his following of his ex-mentor’s footsteps.

Not knowing what to do – or what Arima Kishou was up to – he could only follow the other’s lead, playing his assignment perfectly, albeit in an increasingly detached manner. It was for the best that he didn’t mess their performance up.

He just simply could not bring himself to care much at this point – he’d saved Tsukiyama, somewhat, and had to keep Hinami safe – so the other’s actions were beneficial for him.

Everything was perfectly staged – and didn’t Tsukiyama-san (he hoped the other understood why some things just had to be done) mention that once, about the world being _une grande scène_ , or something else, Kaneki had thought it was simply tragic and had waved his theatrics off as usual – in a way that didn’t jeopardise his survival.

The only question he had on his mind was, why?

Eyeing the other suspiciously, he took in the straight figure and defined lines of the other’s back and torso, watching as he examined the apartment filled with boxes containing Sasaki’s items.

He’d only gotten around to setting up the bookshelves and taking out the books – her works – on top of bringing out the coffee machine.

Arima Kishou picked up on this detail, and he narrowed his eyes at the older male’s obvious amusement when a corner of the other’s lips turned upwards.

“I see you’re settling in well.”

He closed the door, silently submitting himself to the inevitable confrontation once they had full privacy.

“Just unpacking here and there, and…” He hesitated, thinking of Shirazu, “…remembering some things.”

“You mean Shirazu Ginshi.”

He gave a shoulder shrug as a reply. Despite how he might never be able to care of the members of the Quinx the way Sasaki did, or the way he cared for Hide and Hinami and Touka-chan and everyone else, the other had still been a cherished comrade for a short amount of time.

Another unnecessary casualty of this world, just because some people simply weren’t strong enough.

“…How like you.” Those words set his nerves aflame. Scowling – and dropping Haise’s mask – he glared into the other’s back.

How dare he, how _dare_ Arima Kishou assume that he knew _even remotely anything_ about him. He might not hate him for stopping and killing him at V14 – although that incident will always leave an imprint of fear and an unadulterated burning distaste for the other – leading to the creation of Haise as a result of some screwed up Stockholm Syndrome emerging together with his memory loss, but everything Arima Kishou knew was not about him.

It was all about Sasaki Haise.

The other cut him off before he could shoot off a sharp retort – how strange, he thought he was supposed to be a lot calmer right now. He’d certainly treated his triumph over Takatsuki, Shirazu’s death and Urie’s ire with enough indifference – still not turning back to face him at all.

“I,” and it was said with such strong conviction he’d never heard from Arima Kishou – the other was strong, yes, but determination was something he’d always lacked because victory came so naturally (boy wasn’t he jealous) to him – “am not declaring that I know anything about Kaneki Ken." 

He tried to keep the hitch in his breath soft, but both of them knew the older male had picked it up, acute as he was.

So all he did was watch Arima Kishou stare at the lone mug sitting on the table.

White on black, white and black.

They were both the colours of death.

Everything in this apartment seemed suddenly detached.

“But I think,” He continued, pulling something out of his pocket – what, he couldn't tell – and setting it onto the table, “I think, he could be like Haise, deep inside him.”

“And I would like to get to know him better.”

All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe, and he could hear the way the Shinigami’s declaration shattered the entire illusion, disrupted the play and disturbed the choreography.

Wasn’t he the one who viewed Haise as a tool, demanding that he killed like the way he did – there was just no way, no way Arima Kishou could be referring to anything even remotely sentimental because that was disgusting and it made him want to throw up. 

But he knew the other was referring to the very exact sentimentality he was trying to reject.

The other had stopped, and was now waiting for his fellow stage partner’s reply.

Because they couldn’t continue acting in both backstage and onstage – rather, he could, but it seems like Arima Kishou didn’t want to.

And you couldn’t perform with an unwilling partner.

He licked his suddenly chapped lips, and took a deep breath.

“What if, he doesn’t want to let you?” _What if he doesn’t want to know you the same way you want to know him? It’s your fault, in the first place._

For some reason, he could tell the other was smiling.

“Then I’ll make him.”

“….There’ll be a lot of opposition.” Not on his part, but the people from the CCG – the people Arima Kishou has bonds with.

“I know.” _And I don’t care._

He was sure insistent and stubborn.

“…Fine. Do as you like.” And he definitely wasn’t agreeing to this because of some baseless sentimentality he felt for the other. Those were Haise’s memories and Haise’s feelings. 

Not his. 

Acknowledging any sentiments towards Arima Kishou on his part would only mean acknowledging that he perhaps – just perhaps – felt something else that wasn’t entirely Haise but wasn’t entirely him either.

Like how he was grateful for the other for freeing him from his insanity – because he felt like everything was so much clearer now, without the constant fear of being consumed – he was already at the top, what else did he need to fear, with the exception of Arima himself?

The other turned to face him, and he felt like a deer caught in the headlights because _what did I just agree to?_ just flashed past his mind. Arima Kishou took in his uncertain stance, and smiled, before stepping forward to cup his cheeks, finger lightly tracing his jawline. He felt his eyelids flutter shut – and those goddamned fingers travelled there as well and for a moment he could feel the pain again and _oh god he remembered Arima threatening him when he was still floating in the seemingly never-ending dream as Haise_ and there was so much _warmth flowing down until it was_ scalding – from the actions. 

It made him feel treasured, and he ignored the twitch in his hands as a reflex to lash out at this unexpected feeling that he was very much unaccustomed to.

When the other’s lips touched his forehead, his breath hitched, and suddenly he felt everything click into place.

(His first death, Haise, Kanae von Rosewald, Mado Akira, Shirazu, Urie, Tsukiyama, the Quinx, Hinami, Eto, the CCG, Banjou, the Clowns the _Manager the organisation V_ Kanou _Takizawa Seidou_ Takatsuki _Sen_ –

Arima Kishou.) 

It was only after the kiss – fleeting, yet full of emotions too difficult and complicated to put names to – ended and Arima Kishou was seeing himself out the door did he even dare to open his eyes.

He said nothing and did not offer to see the other out. Instead, he focused on the item left behind for him.

“Ah,” the other paused in exiting the open door, “Also, happy birthday, Ken.” 

And he was gone.

Slowly, he moved towards the coffee table, picking up what was left behind gently.

A carving of the _higanbana_ , etched in black and white.

“Back at you, Arima Kishou.” He whispered into empty space, the cold edges of the flower cutting into his fingers.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:**
> 
> The Forehead Kiss – Can also be used as a means of showing deep affection to a loved one. (from http://totescute.com/different-types-of-kisses/)
> 
> Higanbana – in this case, the lycoris radiata is used to symbolise death and the separation of lovers; meeting of one individual whom you will never see again.
> 
> Rinne - the Japanese for Samsara, which is the Buddhist cycle of death and rebirth.
> 
> Make of what you will with this piece, it’s not exactly very sweet, but it is very romantic – if you get what I mean *winces*. Think very, very hard about it. I'm thinking very hard about my Kaneki and my Kishou, hmm, and how I should continue to move on in light of the recent chapters. (/sighs and I liked sweet Kishou I'm gonna have to get him back.)
> 
> My Kishou is starting to warp from dedicated into… another form of dedication and I am not happy but my Kishou-muse demands to be written that way. My new Kaneki-muse agrees wholeheartedly (he is a little more straightforward). These two are gonna be the death of me.
> 
> I swear to kami-sama I wrote this before the "Black Death God" thing from chapter 58. It just happened to coincide ahhhhh uwu. 
> 
> Happy birthday to my darling Kaneki and my ever-valiant (what the fuck) Kishou :D


End file.
